


Fic: Stormfront

by sasha_b



Category: King Arthur (2004)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 07:15:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/859368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years into a difficult command.  Lancelot discovers one of Arthur’s fears, and helps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fic: Stormfront

**Author's Note:**

> Importing old works; this was written in July of 2005. For Gissey.

“Fucking hell,” the captain wheezed; Lancelot smirked, thinking once again just how weak some Romans really were. The man stood inside the great hall, dripping on the stone floor and generally making a nuisance of himself.  
“Yes, captain?” Lancelot asked in as kind a voice as he could muster.

 

“I’m to report to Commander Castus,” the man answered, a sneer on his face. Considering the man looked like a drowned rat, Lancelot found the high and mighty expression amusing.

 

“The Commander is currently occupied elsewhere,” the knight answered. “I’m his second; I can take any news for him.”

 

“Indeed. Well, tell the commander that the fort is under flood watch. The patrols can’t make it past the gates, much less into the woods. The Woads won’t be doing much of anything until this shithole dries up.”

 

“That might prove to be a while,” Lancelot muttered to himself, then turned his back on the Roman, dismissing him with a curt “thank you, I’ll see he gets the message.”

 

“Bloody Sarmatians,” the other man mumbled, and squished his way out of the room, ostensibly to dry off.

 

Lancelot ignored the comment and went back to reading the post, which had just come in. Several days late – having been delayed by the weather.

 

Gods bless Arthur for teaching him to read Latin – it was a skill he valued. No one could pull anything over on him, least not any of the idiotic legionnaires who thought the conscripts were less than horse offal.

 

The rain had been coming down for almost ten days now, and Lancelot thought if it kept up for much longer he might well go mad – or at the very least open his own veins. Water, water everywhere. Everywhere. The garrison looked like it had had a permanent moat installed. Even the stables, which tended to stay dry, considering their higher ground position, were starting to look and (one could only imagine) smell like the Noah’s Ark of Arthur’s bible.

 

Lancelot only hoped Arthur’s God wasn’t angry enough with them to try the same trick twice.

 

Speaking of the commander…

 

Lancelot sighed, and finished reading the mail. Slapping things into a bundle, he gathered them up, along with a bottle of mulled wine and two goblets.

 

The man couldn’t hide forever. Could he?

 

*

 

The thunder was the scary part.

 

Actually…now that he thought it over, the lightning that followed – perhaps that was worse.

 

The smell of the straw and the light scent of oil from the tiny lamp was a slight comfort; but the guilt that constantly chased him was there in full force.

 

Coward Coward Coward beat like drums through him until he thought his teeth would shake from his mouth with the power. The corner he was pressed into was close and dark (except for the lamp, of course), but it didn’t seem quite enough. Maybe he should go to his rooms? 

 

No. Too many people could find him there. And this fear was a secret he was absolutely determined to keep.

 

Considering it was late at night, Arthur thought he had a pretty good chance of remaining undiscovered for as long as he needed.

 

The wind howled, and the thunder broke the sky, and the water rushed through the fortress like it was dead set on ripping the place to shreds. Most of the smaller animals in the stables had been moved to pens on higher ground, the horses left in the soggy place due to their size and the fact that they didn’t exactly like the lightning either. Arthur knew they would go out into it if they had to, just like any well trained animal, but preferred to stay inside in their normal environment.

 

He couldn’t say that he could blame them.

 

Ugh. He laughed when he thought of what Gawain or one of the others would say if they could see him now. Their commander, wielder of Excalibur, offspring of one of the most famous cavalry commanders ever, almost undefeated in battle… cowed in a corner, afraid of a storm.

 

The laugh did come out sounding a little like a sob, though. Arthur buried his face in his hands, his knees crossed, crunched in a ball between the wooden slats that made up the loft of the stables.

 

He rocked once or twice, lifting his head finally, staring out at the deluge through a crack in the wall. He jumped at the sound of thunder – was it him, or was it getting closer?

 

How many battles had he fought? How many times had he ridden out, camped even in sorry weather? Too many times to count.

 

Arthur had never seen a storm like this one. Not in Britain at any rate. They hadn’t seen the sun for over a week. His bones were beginning to ache from the constant damp, and he hadn’t slept more than a few hours a night since this flood had begun.

 

He suddenly thought of Noah, and wondered if God took scaredy-cat commanders as well as animals.

 

The rain began to pound harder, and Arthur moaned, trying to climb into the wooden wall as the thunder got closer.

 

*

 

Lancelot barely made it to Arthur’s rooms without having to swim; the commons area which held the tavern was knee deep. Luckily Vanora had made her many children help her get all the important things away from the water, and watched as he made his soggy way to the quarters hall.

 

Shaking the water out of his sopping hair, he knocked once, then entered.

 

“All right, Arthur, time to come out of…” he looked around the room, trailing off. Hrm.

 

No commander. The fire was lit, and there was an untouched supper covered by a cloth on Arthur’s desk. Excalibur was in it’s place on the wall, and Arthur’s armour stood gleaming on it’s stand. 

 

“Arthur?” Lancelot called, walking further into the room, still dripping and peering around for his friend. Arthur had told him he would be out for a while, asking Lancelot to take care of the post and any things that might come his way. Lancelot had readily agreed; Arthur looked pale and drawn, and the muscle in his jaw had begun to tick a few days previously.

 

When pressed as to where he was going, Arthur had looked cryptic and said something about garrison business. Lancelot had raised an eyebrow, but had let it drop.

 

Considering the lateness of the hour, however, the younger man was starting to get worried. “Arthur? Are you here?” He set the bottle and mugs down on the table by Arthur’s bed.

 

The sky rumbled ominously, and Lancelot found himself next to the window, and looked out. The water was still rising; the Roman captain had been right. It would be ridiculous to expect any kind of Woad activity in this weather.

 

Leaning his forehead against the glass, Lancelot kept staring at the horizon. Noticing something out of the corner of his eye, he focused on it, then swore. 

 

He needed to find Arthur, and now.

 

*

 

The little lamp was almost out of fuel, and Arthur had almost fallen asleep when the sound of what he thought was a keening woman made him start, and grab for the dagger he kept at his waist.

 

He had left his armour and larger weapons behind; they were heavy and clunky, and kept him from moving quickly. Besides, no one would be attacking him inside his own garrison. The linen tunic and heavier overshirt he wore were drying quickly; his leather trousers were still creaky but getting there. He shivered with the remaining wetness, and forced his hand away from his belt.

 

The keening sound came again, and he realized it was the wind. He stared out through the crack in the wall again, and was moving away when he snapped to what he had just seen.

 

Looking out again quickly, he cursed, and began to mumble prayers in hurried latin under his breath, moving as close as humanly possible to the strong timbers and double nailed wood that made up the post that held the walls of the stable together.

 

The conically shaped cloud he had been trying to ignore earlier was much closer now. He couldn’t leave the stables – he would be stupid to try and make it across the open space with the wind the way it was going to be. He knew the clouds could disappear as quickly as they had appeared – but he decided he didn’t want to take the risk. He knew everyone else would be inside as well, and as safe as they could be without him getting involved.

 

As the oil lamp was finally dying, and Arthur was swearing at his stupidity for not bringing more fuel, the door to the loft swung open with a loud bang, making him swear outloud and leap up, drawing his dagger the whole way this time.

 

“Gods, but you’re hard to find sometimes,” Lancelot huffed, his hair hanging in his face, his clothing stuck to him, his cloak dragging at his neck wetly. He threw it to the side, annoyed with the weight, and clambered the rest of the way into the loft. “Thought I was going to have to send out a search party.”

 

The younger man stood across from Arthur, whose breath was coming hard and fast, his eyes wild and wide. Lancelot frowned as the commander finally sheathed his dagger. “What in the name of Mithras are you doing up here, Arthur? There’s a massive amount of bad wind and rain on it’s way. I thought…”

 

“You thought what? I was hiding?” Arthur snapped shrilly. “I’m not. I was … I got caught here when it started coming down. Thought it would be stupid to try and swim across the commons. I’m not hiding.”

 

He sat abruptly, and turned his eyes from Lancelot, watching as the lamp finally burned down. The weird green color of the sky lit the small loft, and Lancelot dripped his way to Arthur, sitting as well after wringing out his hair. Arthur tossed him a blanket, which he wrapped about his now shivering shoulders.

 

“I didn’t think you were, Arthur,” Lancelot replied gently. “…you just happened to be here with water and a blanket and a lamp…”

 

“Fuck it,” Arthur sighed, a miserable sounding thing that made Lancelot’s eyes narrow in sympathy. Arthur finally turned his face to his friend, and his wretched expression made the cute comment Lancelot had been about to make die in his throat.

 

“Arthur,” he began hesitantly, but stopped as the other man raised his hand, shaking his head dejectedly. 

 

“I was hiding,” Arthur said, so softly Lancelot had to strain to hear. The wind was doing it’s best to knock the buildings in the garrison down; the wood planks rattled, and the rain pounded the walls. Arthur seemed oblivious to it; now that he was confessing, it was likely it would take more than a flood of biblical proportions to stop him.

 

“I detest rain,” he added. Lancelot nodded understandingly. “We all do, Arthur. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

 

“But you don’t run off at the first sign of water from the sky,” the other man responded, his tone one of self loathing, his green eyes dark with disgust. “I’m a commander, for God’s sake. I’ve fought in countless battles, I’ve ridden through storms, I’ve seen wounds that would make another man weak in the knees. And yet…” he trailed off, spreading his hands. “Here I sit, cowering like a child.”

 

Lancelot, whilst listening to Arthur, had moved closer to the other man, in order to be able to see out of the crack in the wall, and to try and offer some comfort to Arthur. His knee touched Arthur’s, and he placed one hand lightly on the commander’s leg.

 

“Well, no,” Lancelot admitted, “I don’t like rain, that’s true – but I’m most definitely not fond of … swimming. You know that. I’d as soon as see Bors naked then get anywhere near a lake of any kind.”

 

He smiled at Arthur; they all had their fears. It wasn’t unmanly to be afraid – what was unmanly was to keep it all hidden from your friends. Lancelot patted Arthur’s knee. “Arthur, really. We do all have fears,” he told the other man quietly, reasurringly. “I think no less of you because of it.”

 

Arthur shook his head, and watched out of the crack in the wall. It was still pouring buckets, but the funnel cloud looked as if it were shrinking. “Do you see that?” he asked Lancelot, pointing at it. “Does it look smaller to you?”

 

The other man joined in the looking, and nodded. “Yes. That thing is what brought me looking for you in the first place. It does seem to be smaller.”

 

Arthur turned back to Lancelot unexpectedly, and because the younger man had leant in so close to see out of the crack, their foreheads met, loudly.

 

“Fuck!” they both cried, and raised hands to cover newly formed bumps. “Lancelot – not so close!” “Fuck’s sake, Arthur, watch what you’re doing!”

 

They stared at each other in the gloom, both with the same hand raised, the same expression of annoyance on their faces.

 

Arthur was the first one to laugh. A few seconds later, Lancelot joined him, both of them dropping their hands to their laps.

 

Arthur clutched at his stomach, the tears rolling down his face uncontrollably, the mirth he felt from his ridiculousness spilling from his lips, his face squinched into a look of pure incredulity.

 

“S- stop,” Lancelot begged, his own laughter bubbling around him, “I – I can’t breathe.”

 

Arthur howled even louder, the new lump on his forehead throbbing with his laughter. “I can’t!” he sobbed, eyes crinkling, his glee drowning out the sound of the rain. “You stop!”

 

Lancelot lay his head on Arthur’s knee, hands still covering his gut. “You started it,” he gasped, his teeth shining white in the darkness.

 

They merely roared and laughed for a while, both unable to get any words out. At last Lancelot sat back up, wiping the tears from his face, petting Arthur’s leg gently. “You all right?” he managed to say at last.

 

“I – oh! I think so,” Arthur said, still grinning. “My gut aches like I’ve been punched.” He turned to the wall, and stared out at the weather. “The funnel is gone. That’s good.”

 

Lancelot nodded his agreement, and moved to lean against the boards next to Arthur. “Commander?” he asked. Arthur turned his head, in automatic answer to the title. 

 

“You haven’t called me that outside of a battlefield in years,” Arthur said, his eyes confused. “That worries me.”

 

Lancelot smiled again, and waved his hand. “No. I just wanted to prove something.” He settled closer to Arthur, the warmth from his still damp shoulder producing a soothing feeling in Arthur that made him want to wrap his entire being up in it and just sleep for a week.

 

“Oh yes? What?”

 

“No matter what you think of yourself, Arthur, you still know who you are and what you’re responsible for,” the younger man said quietly. “If I asked you to go out into that weather in order to save someone, or hell, even an animal, you wouldn’t hesitate. You’d be afraid, yes, but you’d do it.”

 

Arthur blushed, and covered his cheeks with a hand momentarily. “It’s my job,” he muttered. Lancelot watched him, his brown eyes not letting Arthur squirm away.

 

“And that’s what I’m trying to get you to see. We all have fears, and doubts. But a lesser man would allow them to rule his actions. You would be afraid, but you never let it stop you. A sane man would be stupid to not be afraid of things. Battle is a prime example. Anyone who goes into that type of situation without being afraid is an idiot. We do it, because we know we must, and we live each day more thankful that we’re still here to be afraid. Being afraid is one of the things that makes us who we are, Arthur. It makes us alive. It makes us feel. It makes us value things. And above all, it makes us human.”

 

Arthur smiled weakly, and dropped his gaze from Lancelot’s. “You’re a wiser man than many give you credit for, my friend. I’m ashamed to admit I do it as well.”

 

“Well,” Lancelot replied, smirk in place, “can’t go being wise all the time. Then you’d want me to do a bunch of extra things, and how would I go about getting the reputation I have if I didn’t have enough time to do the fun things?”

 

Arthur snorted, and looked back at his friend. “Indeed. I’ll remember that when I need someone to muck out the stables. Or do weapons inventory.”

 

Lancelot groaned, and they both laughed quietly. “Oh, damn,” Arthur added, and rubbed at his stomach again. “Remind me not to do that when my gut hurts this much.”

 

One of Lancelot’s eyebrows rose. “I’ll do no such thing. It’s nice to hear.” He nudged Arthur softly with his shoulder, and lay his long fingers on the other man’s hand, which was resting on Arthur’s leg.

 

Arthur clutched Lancelot’s hand, and lay his head back against the wall. “I guess I should go back. If it’s let up enough.”

 

The other man gripped back, and smiled. “Arthur, it midnight. No one’s going to come looking for you at this time of night. Besides, they all know you wake at dawn at any rate. The storm may be disappated in the morning, too. One never knows in this country.”

 

“True,” the commander answered, his voice muzzy, his eyes gettting heavy. “Wake me, hm?”

 

Lancelot made a noise that sounded like an affirmative, and Arthur lay down, his head resting on the other man’s knees. Lancelot’s hand drifted to Arthur’s hair, where he ran his fingers through the strands rhythmically; he was rewarded with a soft snoring sound after a few moments.

 

The wind continued to buffet the building and the fortress, but the young commander and his even younger knight ignored it, one sleeping, one guarding.

 

Arthur slept soundly through a storm for the first time, and Lancelot watched, memorizing the look on his friend’s face, in order to recall it when next Arthur needed him.


End file.
